That one writer chick.

That’s what I was known as back in school.

The weird one. The one with her head in the clouds. The one who had characters and scenarios and could get them from pen to paper… or actually had to. The one who would hand the latest chapter she’d written to a friend in one class and await eagerly to hear feedback.

I didn’t fit in with one specific group. Truth be told, I never fit in anywhere. I could if I wanted to, as the chameleon side of me has shown, although it was never to be fake. It’s because I’m not THIS or THAT. I’m both. I’m the nerd who has her nose in a book. I’m the partier who couldn’t tell you what she’d done over the weekend. I’m the music connoisseur who finds inspiration in most everything from Bach to the Sex Pistols. I love poetry, I love to walk in nature. I love to be in an establishment with loud, live music. I love to sit alone with my candles and think.

Always with a pen and notebook.

Always with these characters warring in my head.

My name is Carlie… and I’m that one writer chick.